


Jeeva-nadhi

by avani



Category: Baahubali: The Beginning (2015), Baahubali: The Conclusion (2017)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 11:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: Sivagami has always feared that the river will someday consume her.





	Jeeva-nadhi

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
>  _Jeeva-nadhi_ \- river of life  
>  _dharma_ \- duty, law, the right way of living in Hindu culture  
>  _upanaynam _\- coming of age ceremony, also known as the sacred thread ceremony, traditionally involving the beginning of a child's education. In ancient India, members of the warrior class usually performed this around age eleven.__

She marries in autumn, after the river floods its banks thanks to the monsoon's largesse. The people don't mind; they call it a sign of the promising harvest to come and bless her name regardless. The priests nod their heads and intone that it is an fortuitous portent of her future. Sivagami, who watched the royal guard pull bodies of drowned animals from the river in the days before her wedding, cannot share their optimism. 

After the ceremony is complete, the royal couple rides out into the city to show themselves to their subjects, accompanied by musicians and dancers. A ridiculous pretense, she thinks privately, to pass her off as a blushing new bride instead of a woman bound to Mahishmati by blood, birth, and breeding, but she has no choice. The chariot creaks along, and the crowds cheer. Sivagami pretends her head doesn't pound, that her belly isn't twisting with trepidation. 

Sunlight bounces against the waves, and sends her gaze to the water. Boats fill the river, with young men and women as concerned with throwing flowers and love-tokens to each other as they are catching a glance of their rulers-to-be. For an instant she wonders what it would be like, to be among them, given up to light and love and laughter, with no concerns more than how many admiring gazes she could collect. 

"Don't," growls Bijjaladeva out of the corner of his mouth, "make a fool of me. Keep your eyes ahead and your head down." 

For once she is grateful to her husband. She needs the reminder to keep her gaze direct, her goals focused. She cannot afford to let anything distract her, not the rhythm of the celebration drums, not the revelry around her, not the river itself. 

* 

The summer heat sends most of the population to seek solace in the water, and her sons are no exception. For the first days she excuses herself; there are always too many reports to be read, diplomatic missives to be approved, ministers and merchants to placate to give her much time for leisure, and besides, she trusts the Royal Guard to protect her boys. But Kattappa mentions in passing of how much they longed for her presence, and her heart melts. One afternoon can hardly do that much harm, she promises herself. 

They are both delighted to see her watching them from the riverbank. Bhalladeva whoops and splashes, and Baahubali scrambles up the bank to touch her feet. She blesses him, unable to resist tousling his wet hair with a laugh, and gently ushers him back towards the water. Her attendants settle around her, setting up a sunshade, and Sivagami prepares herself to do as much as work as she can to the accompaniment of the constant shouts from the river: "Mother, look here!" "Look at me!" "No, me!" 

Sometimes they call because to share a treasure found on the river bottom: a rock beaten perfectly round and smooth by the water, a flower floating by, a battered coin that must be hundreds of years old. Sometimes they call because they want to have a swimming race, and they mean for her to judge the winner; they finish within seconds of each other, and Kattappa nods, approving. She knows he means to start their military training within a season or two, and it is no little thing for them to already meet with his approbation. 

Once they call for her at the same time, "Mother!" from Baahu, and "Look here!" from Bhalla. She turns to smile at Baahu, who sends a fish arcing through the air with a flick of his wrist, its iridescent scales forming rainbows in the sunlight. Somewhere to her right, she hears a splash and the murmured compliments at the skill of Prince Bhalladeva's dive. Her heart is full; she thinks she might well be happy. 

And then seconds pass into minutes, and Bhalla's head still does not resurface. Sivagami rises to her feet, her heart in her throat. "Katt--" she begins, but can't seem to find enough air in her lungs to finish. No matter; he is already racing towards the water. Baahu notices her panic and ducks back into the water, launching himself in the direction Bhalla was last seen as Kattappa wades into the water. In the end, it's Baahu who finds Bhalla and tows him to where Kattappa waits. 

She does not run; it is hardly dignified. But only an instant seems to go by before she is at the water's edge with them, Bhalla limp and pale in Kattappa's arms, coughing up what must be half the river, Baahu peering over Kattappa's shoulder, fists clenched. 

Kattappa looks up and meets her gaze. "He'll live, my lady," he pronounces, and she can breathe again. 

That night, worry rather than his usual malice loosens Bijjaladeva's tongue. "He might have died today," he hisses, "and you would not have even noticed! Unnatural mother that you are, paying all your attention to that motherless brat--" 

She will not dignify his comments with a response. She finds she has none. She does not need one. 

* 

She has learned to hate winter. The cool breezes lure her nobles back to the city instead of taking refuge from the weather at their estates, and consequently she is forced to hold court more often than usual. That means hour after hour of sitting below the empty throne, of listening to endless petty complaints from powerful men who have no idea what it is to suffer. 

Most of all she hates the sensation of sitting before them, knowing that her command is the only thing holding back their craving for the throne. Martand's was not the only rebellion against her rule, only the most memorable; not two years later, she heard of a new band of nobleman who aspired to make a claim to the throne, who rumor had it even had the tacit blessing of the passed-over prince of the royal family. She did not confront her husband at that time, only gave certain secret commands; and days later, the bodies of the conspirators were found floating, swollen and sword-pierced, in the river. 

Bijjaladeva's face, when he saw, went at least as pale as those of his fellow plotters; that much pleasure Sivagami allowed herself. 

But that was years in the past, and enough foiled attempts has at least curbed the thought that seizing the throne will be an easy task. Now instead they rail at her for lower taxes, for more royal guards assigned to protect their estates, for more autonomy in dealings with their servants. Every evening she retires with her shoulders heavy and aching and her temper short. 

She tries not to show her moods to the boys, but they are older now, and can't help but notice her agitation. She supposes she must explain; one day, one of them will share this same burden, and his brother must help him bear it. 

Neither of them understand. 

"But you're the Queen Mother," says Bhalla, almost dismissively. "You can do anything you want. Your word is the law." She bites back a bitter chuckle. He cannot have realized that just as her every word stands as law, the law must shine forth in every word she speaks. It traps her more closely than any prison ever could. 

"But you're helping the people," says Baahu, brow furrowed, almost incomprehensible in his innocence. "You're making them happy." She cannot remember a time when protecting the citizens of Mahishmati against the excesses of their betters gave her anything but a grim satisfaction at a job well done, the same as when she congratulates herself on surviving a bit longer, preserving the strength of the throne a few days more. 

Without their terror of her, she will be swept away on the wave of their hatred, leaving no one to protect the throne of Mahishmati for its future king. She knows how innocently it might start: one slip on her part, and the consequent loss of balance; and then nothing but that she would be lost, anonymous entirely. 

One unconsidered step, one suggestion of weakness, one mistake might be her doom. She can never allow any of them to come to pass. 

* 

The priests decree that the most auspicious date to hold the princes' _upanayanam_ ceremonies comes with the arrival of spring. Sivagami obeys; it is past time, she thinks, for her sons to be instructed in the way of _dharma_ , the traditions of their forebears. But she refuses to send them to their teachers unprepared - in the days preceding, she sits both boys before her, still and solemn, and teaches them what she considers most important about a warrior's duty: to do what is right fearlessly, come what may. 

Bhalla nods at once, always obedient, but Baahu watches her, wide-eyed. 

"No matter who you must go against?" he repeats, expression unsure, and Sivagami cannot help but smile. Her dear, clever, questioning child. 

"No matter who," she says. "That is your duty." 

Both princes acquit themselves very well at the ceremony, following the priests' directions without question, repeating the sacred verses without error. Sivagami swells with pride. The halls of the palace resound with compliments about the princes' virtue; neighboring kingdoms and territories send presents and tribute in commemoration. She decrees that all these must be divided equally between the two -- she will allow nothing less. 

Among these are those offerings from Kuntala to the south: a deep blue shawl embroidered with silver waves chosen by the king, and a pearl-handled dagger selected by the crown princess his sister. She thanks the ambassador prettily, ignoring his obvious error as to which royal sibling had sent which gift, and beckons her sons forward. 

Baahu's stride is slightly longer, and he reaches the table where the gifts are displayed a heartbeat before Bhalla does. He spends that heartbeat looking from one to the other, before reaching towards the shawl to examine it more closely. 

"I want that one," Bhalla blurts out, and her son (her other son, her not-son) lets his hand drop to his side. 

Bhalla pulls the shawl to him and drapes it so that the silk flows like water down his shoulder, the blue bringing out the golden tones of his skin. It looks well on him, and she is sure that he knows it. 

"Very beautiful," Sivagami tells him, and the ambassador, too. "Most befitting of a prince of Mahishmati." Bhalla beams in the warmth of her attention, and she smiles back, touched at what an impact such a small thing has upon him. 

And forgotten, Baahubali takes up the dagger. Out of the corner of her eye, Sivagami watches him run his thumb along the blade's edge to test its sharpness; it draws blood. He smiles to himself: surprised, satisfied, and thanks the ambassador in soft tones before tucking the dagger away, close to his heart. The moment stands out in her memory with far more significance than it deserves. 

Years go by before she knows what to make of that.

**Author's Note:**

> This particular story owes a great deal to [this amazing post on Tumblr](http://jaimahishmathi.tumblr.com/post/160445402586/) and [the Don't Call It Bollywood blog](http://dontcallitbollywood.com/tag/bahubali-2/), where, at the time of posting, there is currently a scene-by-scene recap/analysis of the second movie in process, responsible for a great deal of insightful discussion!
> 
> Comments/criticism/squeeing over the movies very much welcome! :)


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